Nightmares Tinged Grey
by Forged Obsidian
Summary: Ash and snow bleached the world grey.


Nightmares Tinged Grey

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Sometimes all Thorin could see was ash.

He could never really figure out why. When the dragon had taken the mountain, the colors had been mostly orange and black, not the color of dead stone. There had been little to burn. Azanulbizar had been red, the sky streaked with orange, the black blood of their enemies and the crimson of their friends stained the ground.

So where had the ash come from?

The winters, maybe.

They were all cold, in the wandering years. Cold enough that all color was bleached from the world and all that was left was the piercing white of the snow and the grey husks of what was once a mighty people. The sky was always the color of frozen stone, listless and empty, echoing the hearts of the dwarven refugees as they wandered. Eventually they would find a human settlement that would allow their presence, but more often than not, they were forced to fend for themselves.

_Dwarves are a strong, sturdy race, built to endure._

They had lost many that first winter, the combination of hopelessness and grief, as well as a lack of food and warmth, pushed many beyond their capacity. Most counted the ones that passed on lucky.

The ashes of fires long dead swirled on the wind, sometimes joined by the cold embers of a funeral pyre. It was too cold to delve into earth, and burying their dead in stone was no longer an option.

They were more prepared for their second winter. Gathered more wood, earned more favors from the villages of men, rationed the food even more strictly. And yet, somehow, they still lost friends and family. This year the absence of color was more prominent, though quite a few of his fellow dwarves had grown swarthy and tanned from the sun.

There was a strange film over his eyes, a fog-like sea that allowed him to view the world, but drained the color until it felt like he was looking through a thick window. Some days were better than others. An event that came to mind was when some of the younger dwarflings had managed to make their way to the front of the wagon train, and spent the day climbing over rocks and swinging from Dwalin and Thorin's arms. The colors had come back then.

But before long, when the sun had set and the wandering dwarves had stopped for the night, Thorin would dream of gray flakes floating through a colorless sky. Sometimes shapes were there, ancient, faceless dwarves clad in ash armor. They would always be just out of reach, never really moving. Thorin just couldn't move quickly enough. The one time he had managed to touch the dream dwarves made of ash they had crumbled at his fingertips.

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It's this way for years. Eventually his people settle, crafting wooden homes in the place of strong stone halls. Dís had found a partner, a golden haired warrior. Thin, but strong. He had a laugh that could light up a room, and horrible violin skills, even though he insisted that he could play better than Dwalin. It had earned him a black eye or two before he learned his lesson.

Violin aside, he was a good lad. He and Dís had gotten along well. He had been respectful of Thorin, and soon Dwalin was giving the lad music lessons. It became a private joke, of sorts.

Slowly, the color came back into the world. Dís was with child, and his strong sister had never looked more lovely (well, when she wasn't wielding an axe through the head of a warg, but that was a different type of beauty).

Then everything went wrong.

_"I'm sorry, laddie. The boy was stillborn."_

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The child would have had golden hair, like his father. Dís and her husband took a while to recover, and for a time it was only Thorin and Dwalin in the forge. Their people mourned, bringing by food and comforting gifts. What they could spare, at least.

What light had been growing in Thorin's mind turned cold and ashen. He was listless, wandering from room rather than sleeping. Before long he was loosing himself in blurry thought at the forge. He burned himself and cracked a knuckle with a steel hammer before Dwalin told him to go home.

Thorin didn't go home.

Home was too far away, held beneath the claws of a dragon. Home was burned at the gateway to Azanulbizar. Home was still wandering in the forest, somewhere. Home was buried beneath six feet of earth, wrapped in a small, blue blanket.

Thorin went to the wooden house he himself had made. Maybe it wasn't home, but is was as close as he was likely to get.

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When Dís announced that she was again with child, Thorin tried to ignore the frantic twitch in his stomach. His hands went clammy, and his throat dried up.

It was easier, this time. Dís knew what she was doing. The father often had to go down into the mines, looking for ore to bring back to the forge or to sell raw to human travelers.

The months passed, and Dís grew. She had to stop working in the forge, and though she insisted that she was just fine, Thorin could tell that she tired easily.

The world had gone to a different gray. This time there were more flashes of color. A brush of blue against the sky, the gleam of metal catching the sun, the warmth of a cherry fire that didn't destroy homes and families. It was a cautious coloring, though. Anything could happen, and Thorin numbed himself to the idea of a nephew. Just in case.

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Thorin waited outside his sister's room, listening, pacing. It was strange to be doing this again. Óin was in the room with her. Dís's husband was waiting with Thorin, sitting in a chair and staring listlessly at a carving knife and block of wood in his hands. They had been waiting a while. Then, the noises from the room stopped, and an anticipating hush grabbed the wooden house.

The, a baby's cry shattered the silence and released the vice around Thorin's heart. A sigh of relief slumped him over to rest his hands on his knees, letting out a small, relieved chuckle. He was dimly aware of his fellow dwarf staggering into the room, pushing open the door. The noise became clearer when it wasn't muted by the thick wood.

Thorin caught a glimpse of Dís, black hair held back by a leather tie and face flushed with sweat. Thick blankets were pulled up to her smaller stomach, bloodied blankets pulled off the bed and piled in the corner. His sister held a small bundle of blankets, up next to her face, looking down at her child with relieved satisfaction and, what Thorin could only identify as, instant _love. _

Óin shuffled out of the room, slipping past the edge of the bed and walking past Thorin. The healer turned, and gave a big grin to the king-in-exile.

"We've gotta strong one, laddie."

Thorin slumped against the wall in relief.

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The first time he holds Fíli is the middle of the night, when the snow outside is drifting lazily past the window and the fire crackles at his feet. The world seemed still, as though resting. Thorin sat in his chair, crafted by Dís' husband. He had skills with wood that rivaled Thorin's abilities with metal. The dwarf prince was nearly asleep when the creak of a floor board woke him.

"Hey."

Thorin's head bobbed up, weary eyelids wavering. Bleary eyesight took in the view of his sister, strong arms holding the bundle of her child. "Here," she said, strong voice muted in the crackling fire and drifting flakes.

"You've been avoiding him, don't think I didn't notice," Dís remarked as she shifted closer to Thorin's chair. "Why?"

Thorin slumped lower into his chair, trying to think of how to phrase his thoughts. He knew that he would have to answer her sooner or later. She was nothing if not persistant.

" . . . I am afraid."

Her blue eyes softened. Moving to stand in front of him, she gestured with her full, folded arms that he was to sit up straight. Thorin obeyed without question, and didn't blink an eye when she plopped down in his lap. "Why are you afraid?"

Thorin sighed, leaning his forehead to rest on her forearm. "Everything . . . breaks. When I touch it."

Dís sighed, wrapping one arm around her brother's head while the other cradeled her son. "Now whatever do you mean by that?"

It was quiet for a moment. "The mountain is lost . . . Grandfather is dead . . . Frerin . . . and your first child . . . Dís, we wandered for _so long."_

"Aye, and we survived, brother. We were made strong. You led us, because you are strong. Nothing that has happened is your fault." She was soft in her explanation, but Thorin could hear the conviction behind her words. Her hand rubbed the back of his head, fingernails sliding down his skull.

"Now, quit being a fool and hold your nephew."

Thorin, dulled by the fire and his sister's embrace and words, had no time to react to her sliding off his lap and placing Fíli in his arms. It was only a warrior's automatic reactions that got his arms up in time to cradle the bundle of blankets.

Fíli was a normal dwarfling child, save for the wisps of golden hair atop his head and down in front of his ears. He showed promise already, stout fingers rested beside his head as he slept. He was heavy, but not weighty. A find young dwarfling indeed.

Dís watched with an amused and proud expression on her face as she watched her brother. Really, he could be dense at times. She backed away, moving into the kitchen for a light meal. She had been sleeping for a few days, recovering. She was due to go back to the forge before long. She honestly couldn't wait.

Thorin, meanwhile, had moved his nephew to a more comfortable position, with the small blond head in the crook of his arm. The dwarfling stretched for a moment, fingers brushing against his pudgy face before settling again. He looked so like Frerin that for a moment Thorin couldn't breathe. Then, moving slowly and hesitantly, placed his forehead gently against that of his heir.

"Hello, my boy. Welcome to the world."

And with that Thorin lost his heart for the first time since the mountain fell.

Outside, the snow had stopped. The half-moon shone down on powdery hills, with needle trees proudly glowing green against the bleached background. The stars blinked blue and silver against the dark velvet sky. Red birds skipped along branches, complaining when snow spoiled their landings. A brown wolf trudged down to the river, breaking the thin ice and lapping at the deep blue water.

Color was back, but Thorin was too lost in blue eyes and blond hair to notice.

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_**Because Thorin suffers from depression, and you all know it. HE**__** HAS TO HAVE SOME ISSUES. ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY LOOSE THEIR HOME, THEIR PARENTS, A BROTHER, THEIR KING AND GRANDFATHER AND NOT HAVE ISSUES. THAT GOES WITHOUT MENTIONING THE YEARS SPENT WANDERING IN A WORLD THAT SAW THEM AS GREEDY LITTLE MONSTERS.**_

_**Also I needed something that ended happy after what happened in "Sleep." So yes. Little pudgy dwarflings. **_

_**So, yes. This just kinda came out. As always, thanks for reading/reviewing. I love you all!**_

_**(I have a few more fics I'm working on, but maybe don't expect much for a while. I need to focus on finishing school)**_


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